


Bubblegum Bitch

by GarnetSeren



Series: Atomic Anthology [9]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Affection, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Ghouls, Hurt/Comfort, Period-Typical Racism, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetSeren/pseuds/GarnetSeren
Summary: Smiling sadly, she held out the fragile piece of paper for Charon to take. For a long drawn out moment he simply stared at the worn contract, but then his milky eyes snapped to her, giving her an unreadable look before he took a step away. She opened her mouth to call his name, to ask if he was alright, but Charon vigorously shook his head. The look on his ravaged face constricted her heart, because if it had been anyone other than a nearly seven foot tall heavily muscled ghoul, she might have said he was scared. It almost hurt to look at him. Regardless of what that bastard Ahzrukhal said, Charon didn't deserve this fate.*A collection of interconnected, chronological Charon one-shots*
Relationships: Butch DeLoria & Female Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout) & Female Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout)/Female Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout)/Lone Wanderer
Series: Atomic Anthology [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1302518
Comments: 15
Kudos: 114





	1. Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coteobscur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coteobscur/gifts).



Hope ran a subconscious hand through her copper coloured hair that Snowflake had recently trimmed, as she popped a bubblegum bubble and stepped into the dimly lit bar; hoping against hope that her sketchy plan had at least a tiny chance of success. In all honesty, she wasn't exactly confident. Sure, she'd managed to charm the likes of Moriarty and Jerico easily enough, but from the sounds of it, this Ahzrukhal had a _lot_ more years of experience than they did... Hope also had the feeling he was a much meaner bastard than those two as well, but after hearing about the bodyguard in his 'employment', she couldn't just walk away without at least _trying_ to help. Regardless of the rumours and stories she'd heard from Carol, Greta and several other Underworld residents about this Charon, Hope wasn't prepared to leave someone a slave, even if the chance of her hazy plan actually working was close to none existent. So despite the way her heart raced, she casually sauntered through the bar and popped another bubble, doing her best _not_ to look at the towering, ridiculously well-built ghoul that was lurking in the corner of the rundown dive. Instead Hope set her sights on the seedy looking ghoul that stood behind the decrepit bar, and took a cautious seat on a creaky barstool before dropping her backpack carefully at her feet.

“Who's the guy in the corner?” she asked conversationally, whilst gesturing towards a bottle of Quantum.

“That's Charon. Let's just say... well, he's a loyal employee,” Ahzrukhal replied, handing her the unopened bottle. “Don't mess with me, and he won't mess with you.”

“Loyal employee? What do you mean?” Hope queried, playing dumb and twirling a lock of hair around her finger, whilst making the point of placing the caps into the ghoul's withered hand.

“I hold his contract, which makes me his employer,” the sleazy barman boasted, smirking. “He will do what I ask when I ask, without question.”

“That's... _fascinating_ ,” she purred, leaning over a little to give the bastard an excellent view of her cleavage. “Would you tell me more?”

“Of course, smoothskin,” Ahzrukhal leered. “You see... Charon grew up around a very interesting group of individuals. They... well, I guess you could say they brainwashed him. He is absolutely loyal to whomever holds his contract. Unfailing, unflinching, until the day that employment ends.”

“That's... really something,” Hope stated, unable to help glancing at the towering ghoul.

“Don't get me wrong, I have no doubt that he holds no end of animosity towards me,” the barman continued, resting his elbows on the grimy counter. “But as long as he is my employee, he's as gentle as a teddy bear.”

She fluttered her eyelashes, as she demurely propped her chin on her upturned palm. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to part with his contract? It'd be nice to have a hired gun I can trust out in the Wastes.”

“Hmm... he is a highly valuable asset to me and to the Ninth Circle. What did you have in mind?” Ahzrukhal asked, leaning towards her.

“Well, I bet a successful businessman like yourself knows how to drive a hard bargain,” she complimented, hoping her bartering skills weren't about to fail her. “So I won't waste our time starting with a fair offer.”

“I'm listening...”

“A thousand caps paid in full, right now,” she proposed, confidently.

Ahzrukhal made a show of mulling the offer over, obviously trying to make her sweat but Hope simply held her ground. She wasn't going to fall into the trap of upping the price until he'd flat out rejected the offer, even if she did have an extra two thousand caps sewn into the lining of her backpack. But then to her surprise... and slight revulsion... the bastard gave her a wide, yellow toothed grin.

“Yes. I suppose that could work,” the barman agreed, reaching into the inner pocket of his stained jacket. “Here's the contract. I'll give you the pleasure of informing Charon yourself.”

Hope gave a tight lipped smile as she exchanged the fragile piece of paper for a heavy coin purse full of caps, and as she hopped off the rickety barstool, she immediately tucked the contract into a hidden pocket on the inside of her jeans for safe keeping; she wanted it as protected as possible until she could get this Charon away from prying eyes long enough to give him his freedom. So not wanting to draw attention to herself... or any more than a human already attracted in a city full of ghouls... she walked over to where the intimidating bodyguard stood.

“Talk to...” Charon began.

“Slow down, big guy,” Hope replied, quietly. “That bastard doesn't own you any more.”

“You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal? So I am no longer in his service? That is good to know,” he stated, his gravelly voice going from wary to almost excited.

“If there's something you need to do, feel free,” she stated, offering him half a smile.

Charon glanced between her and presumably the barman. “Please, wait here. I must take care of something.”

In all honesty, Hope had an idea of what was about to happen, but after what she'd heard about Ahzrukhal from other Underworld residents, she was inclined to believe he deserved whatever Charon decided to do to him. So heeding the shockingly polite request, she leant her back against the crumbling wall, popping another bubblegum bubble... her hand drifting to the pistol she kept on her hip as a precaution whilst in a town... and waited for Charon to finish his business with his former owner.

* * *

The bastard's remains were still cooling on the floor when Charon turned to look for his new employer. She was leant against the wall, almost in the exact spot he'd spent the last two decades standing in, and didn't seem the least bit surprised by his murderous actions. Her large grey eyes just locked with his, as she tied her surprisingly long copper hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, before she fully pushed herself off the wall. When she'd first walked into the Ninth Circle... having barely spared a glance at him... Charon couldn't help noticing her, and not just for her smooth skin and good looks. She had far more sway to her step than women usually had, but whereas he'd earlier thought it was put on to attract attention, now as she moved towards him it seemed like some sort of inherent grace that tugged at the back of his mind; demanding Charon remember something he could never quite recall.

“You good?” she asked, stepping around him before bending over to retrieve the bag of caps she'd given to Ahzrukhal.

Charon nodded, then realising she wasn't looking, gave a non-committal grunt as well.

“I need to head back to Carol's Place,” she stated, turning to face him.

“Alright, let's go,” he replied.

She gave him a curious look. “You don't need to grab anything first?”

“No.”

If she was offended by his gruff tone she didn't comment on it, and instead led the way to the Ninth Circle's main competition. Charon hadn't been inside the hotel in years, and although he catalogued the number of potential threats as well as exits, he mostly ignored the looks and whispers that followed him and his new employer. However, when the proprietor tailed them to the bunk that his mistress must have rented, Charon was on full alert; especially when the smoothskin began stripping off her jeans and leather jacket without a second thought... his keen eyes just noticing her slight of hand as she slipped his contract into her bra... leaving her vulnerable to attack.

“I see you went through with it,” Carol stated, picking up the discarded clothes and folding them in a surprisingly familiar way.

“Did you really think I wouldn't?” his mistress replied, as she began to pull on some combat armour.

“Well, I'd hoped it was mostly the whiskey talking last night,” the proprietor replied, handing over the clothes for his employer to pack.

“How much did you lose to Greta?” the smoothskin asked, giving the ghoulette a knowing smile.

“Enough,” Carol chuckled, before sobering. “Did Ahzrukhal give you any trouble?”

“No. Kind of surprising, really,” his mistress stated, before her eyes darted to him. “And Charon _decided_ to settle his... grievances himself, so that bastard won't be able to hurt anyone else.”

“Did he now?” the ghoulette mused, aloud.

Charon didn't say anything, didn't move a muscle, even as both women regarded him critically; despite how uncomfortable being centre of attention always made him. It left him feeling too exposed, as if he needed to watch his own back as well as his employer's. It was an unpleasant feeling and one Ahzrukhal had delighted in exploiting over the years. However, his new mistress just frowned ever so slightly as if she'd already figured out he was uncomfortable, but instead of being happy she'd found a weakness she could take advantage of, his mistress seemed upset. Charon immediately stood a little straighter, inwardly cursing himself. It wasn't a good idea to push or anger a new employer so soon... the contract might negate acts of physical violence, but there were other punishments the contract holder could do. Ahzrukhal had enjoyed tormenting him by withholding food, and it was completely conceivable that his new mistress was displeased her bodyguard had such an exploitable weakness.

“You good to go?” his mistress asked, her tone gentle despite her frown.

“Lead on,” he replied, succinctly.

“Do be careful, dear,” Carol fretted, following them to the door. “And tell that boy of mine to write home more.”

“I think working the bar keeps him run off his feet,” the smoothskin smiled, though it seemed a little forced. “But I'll remind him to send a letter with the next caravan.”

There were several more pleasantries and assurances exchanged that Charon mostly tuned out before they left Underworld, only to discover it was late evening as they emerged from the enclosed city. Immediately, he was on high alert and quietly seething. How stupid was this smoothskin if she thought travelling in the dark was a good idea? No wonder she purchased his contract, it was amazing she'd made it to Underworld in one piece.

“Not sure how long you've been inside, but I'm always half blinded when I come back out,” she told him conversationally, even as she waved to Willow who guarded the city's entrance. “I figured we could make camp then head out properly at dawn, give our eyes time to adjust.”

At first, Charon didn't see the need to reply. His mistress hadn't given him a direct order, and Ahzrukhal had spent a lot of the past few decades talking _at_ him rather than to him. But then the smoothskin gave him another curious look, almost as if he was some sort of puzzle she was trying to figure out.

* * *

Hope figured that Charon was either a generally quiet guy, or more likely, he didn't trust her and was waiting for her to do something... probably horrible... to him. After all, the poor guy didn't have a clue that she'd only bought his contract to free him; partially as some private penance because she hadn't figured out a way to rescue Gob and Nova that wouldn't get her run out of Megaton, but also because she generally found the notion of slavery abhorrent. No one deserved to be owned by another person, and when she'd heard about Charon and the things that Ahzrukhan had forced him to do, there was no way Hope could have left him in bastard's clutches. But of course Charon didn't know that, which meant finding a safe place to camp was doubly important, because the poor guy deserved to know he was free, sooner rather than later.

“I've not been to this part of Capitol much,” Hope admitted, glancing at the towering ghoul. “So if you've got any ideas where we should camp, tell me.”

Charon clenched his jaw, but pointed out what he must have considered the most defendable location, which immediately made Hope worry that her request had sounded like an order. She hated the thought asking for his opinion could have come across as a command, but the sky was getting darker and they needed to make camp before she could explain that he wasn't her slave. That he was free. So she held her tongue whilst they set up mines and tripwires to defend the blown out building front Charon had selected, but as he started a meagre fire and she laid out their solitary sleeping bag, Hope popped a bubblegum bubble to distract herself from her sudden nerves before she asked:

“Back at the bar... do you want to talk about it?”

“Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. As long as he held my contract, I was honour bound to do as he commanded,” Charon replied, surprisingly quickly. “But now you're my employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting rat. And now, good or ill, I serve you.”

Hope shook her head, smiling sadly at the towering ghoul, even as she unhooked her armoured chest piece so she could slip his contract out of her bra. “You don't serve me,” she explained, holding out the fragile piece of paper to him. “I bought your contract because there was no other foolproof way to get it off the bastard. I don't own you. The caps I paid and the contract are yours.”

For a long drawn out moment Charon simply stared at the worn paper, but then his milky eyes snapped to her, giving her an unreadable look before he took a step away. Hope opened her mouth to call his name, figuring the ghoul was just overwhelmed since freedom must be quite a shock after spending what sounded like centuries as a slave, but Charon vigorously shook his head; and even though he was missing some key features that normally made up a face... like eyebrows, a nose and intact skin... Hope was fairly certain he was more than a little apprehensive. If it had been any one other than a nearly seven foot tall, heavily muscled ghoul she might have even said he was scared.

“Doesn't work like that,” he grit out. “I can't hold my own contract. I am bound to my employer.”

She stifled a gasp, as her mind worked at a mile a minute. “Ahzruhkhal mentioned brainwashing, is that why you can't take your contract?”

“Yes.”

“What if I destroyed it? You can't be bound by something that doesn't exist,” she suggested.

Charon's whole body jerked, as if he was about to reach for her but held himself back. “I... would either kill you to stop your attempt, or kill myself after the fact. I am bound to the contract.”

Bile rose in her throat at the notion, but managed to whisper: “Nothing is unbreakable. There's got to be something... some way. A fail safe? A password? Code? Anything? Can you remember nothing about... about what they did to you?”

“I am bound to the contract,” he replied, stoically. “It cannot be destroyed, it cannot be broken. If you do not want my services, as my employer you can sell my contract.”

Without thinking, Hope reached out to lay a comforting hand on his arm, but before she could touch him Charon took another step away and glared at her.

“Physical violence negates the contract.”

Unable to help it Hope gaped at him, before shaking her head sadly. Tears stung her eyes as she retreated to the other side of their small fire to give him the space he obviously needed, and sat down on a large hunk of rubble with a weary sigh. Not knowing what else to do, she held her head in her hands; willing herself not to cry. Hope had never intended this to happen. She didn't want to own anyone, she didn't want to be a slaver like that bastard Moriarty. She honestly felt sick, and took several deep breaths to calm herself down. She was so far out of her depth that it wasn't even funny. It oddly felt like emerging from the vault all over again, but this time it wasn't her problems that mattered. So after another steadying breath, she looked up and locked eyes with Charon, who was regarding her almost warily from the far side of the camp fire.

“I refuse to own you,” Hope said, calmly. “However, I'm not just going to sell you either. You're not property. You're a person, for fuck's sake!” She paused to sigh, trying to think. “Is... there anyone you'd want to hold your contract? A friend or someone you trust?”

“No.”

Hope bit back another sigh whilst a lead weight seemed to settle in her gut. “Do... would... ugh!” She dragged a hand across her face and popped another bubblegum bubble, as she tilted her head back; looking for guidance in the starry sky. “If... you want me to, I'll look after your contract. But that's all I'll be doing, keeping it safe for you. It's your contact and so are the caps I paid for it.”

When she risked glancing at him, Charon was giving her another unreadable look, his ravaged face looking even more other-wordly as the flickering flames made shadows dance across his withered skin.

“I don't _want_ to own you,” she reiterated. “No one should have that power over you. But if _you_ want to stay with me... and full disclaimer, my life is one disaster after another lately... then I'll find a way to make it work for both of us. Is that... okay?”

“Yes.”

“So... you want me to keep hold of your contract?” she asked, wanting to make doubly sure.

Several weighted seconds went by before Charon replied with a simple: “Yes.”

Hope blew out a measured breath. It wasn't really the answer she wanted to hear, but she wasn't about to abandon him either. So even though she had no idea how the hell she was going to do it, she was determined to make this whole arrangement as painless as possible for the both of them.

“Alright,” she agreed, trying to keep the reluctance from her voice. “But the moment you change your mind, you have to tell me, okay?”

Charon gave her what she was starting to consider his 'trademark' unreadable look, before he nodded. “Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collection title (& some of Lone's character) inspired by the Marina & the Diamonds song of the same name.


	2. Helping Hand

Hope was half asleep as she padded bare foot down the stairs of her ramshackle house in Megaton, dressed in only an oversized t-shirt and looking for a drink. Nightmares had woken her up... again... and at some point she'd managed to bite the inside of her cheek, leaving a metallic tang in her mouth that only Nuka Cola would wash out. But since she was so sleep deprived after the three days it had taken to get back from Underworld, Hope hadn't remembered that it was no longer just her, the crazy pooch that was still snoozing on her bed, and the fastidious mechanical butler that inhabited the place. So she sucked in a surprised breath when she noticed the hulking shape of a towering ghoul sat on her beat up couch, silhouetted by the meagre gas lantern he'd lit; the only other source of light was the glowing tip of the cigarette Charon had between his thin lips, but it was enough for Hope to realise he was shirtless, the twisted ridges of his rad-burnt skin clear in the flickering light. They regarded each other in a weighted silence and although she had no idea what Charon was thinking, Hope was desperately willing away the fog of sleep so she could say something coherent.

“Didn't mean to scare you, mistress,” he rumbled, gruffly.

Finally shocked out of her stupor, Hope made it down the last few creaking stairs. “Sorry, I was still half asleep. But we've talked about this, please don't call me mistress,” Hope stated, before noticing the med-kit at his feet. “Are you hurt?”

“It's nothing... ma'am” Charon replied.

“I call bullshit,” she stated, but not unkindly.

Without waiting for a response, Hope crossed her hodgepodge of a lounge-come-workshop until she could kneel in front of the towering ghoul, and she tried not to be offended by how his milky eyes watched her warily. So close, Hope could make out scars from improperly tended bullet holes and ill-treated knife wounds, and she did her best not to wince in sympathy, especially when she noticed a fresh injury in Charon's incredibly well defined left bicep. If they were both standing, it would roughly be at the same height as her face, and Hope realised in sickening clarity that he'd been hurt protecting her.

“I asked you earlier if you'd been hit,” she stated, reaching out to assess the bullet wound.

“Physical violence negates the contract,” he grit out, pushing himself further into the threadbare couch.

Hope's hand hovered in mid-air as she gave him a stricken look. “I would _never_ hurt you, Charon... even if we weren't bound together by your contract. I know we barely know each other but _please_ believe me. I will never hurt you, I swear.”

Charon gave her one of his trademark unreadable looks, before pointedly glaring at her hand. “Then why...”

“I'm a doctor, or was before... well, before we met,” Hope explained, her voice only slightly wavering as her eyes began to sting. “My dad trained me to... to replace him, I guess. So I know what I'm doing, and I know you got injured because of me.”

“The employer's safety is paramount,” he parroted.

Hope shook her head. “Not to me, it isn't. I know you don't believe me, but we're in this together. The contract might make my safety your priority, but you wanted me to keep it and I told you I'd make it work for us both somehow. That means your well being is my main concern, so _please_ let me treat your wound.”

* * *

Charon eyed his employer distrustfully, even as she looked up at him earnestly. He didn't trust it. Despite the fact she looked harmless dressed in a oversized t-shirt, with her copper hair looking like she'd been tossing and turning since she'd headed to bed, he didn't think for one minute she was unarmed; she must have a knife or _something_ somewhere about her person. There must be an ulterior motive for a pretty smoothskin like her to be leaning close to a shirtless ghoul, and she didn't seem the type to have _that_ sort of kink. So he just studied his employer, waiting for her to make her move, but all she did was run her hands through her dishevelled hair and sighed irritably. Charon's hand itched to reach for his combat shotgun that sat beside him on the couch, convinced the smoothskin was going to strike at any moment, but all she did was rock back onto her haunches before pushing herself up and walking away from him.

“Will you at least tell me if you've removed the bullet yet?” she called, sounding weary.

“No,” he replied, following her movements as she headed for the kitchenette.

“No you won't tell me, or no you haven't removed it?” she asked, coming back with two bottles of Nuka Cola.

He _almost_ wanted to smile at that. “No. The fragments are still in there.”

As his employer knelt down in front of him again, Charon watched as she popped the top off both bottles, before she absent-mindedly handed him one; not seeming to notice that his fingers accidentality grazed hers when he warily accepted the once carbonated beverage. Her focus remained on his wound as she gulped down her drink, before she popped a piece of garishly pink bubblegum into her mouth. She seemed completely unphased by his withered and twisted skin, which was... strange. Unusual. Disconcerting. Nice? In the few days she'd held his contract, Charon realised that despite how little she'd talked whilst they were moving through the wastes, his employer was unlike any smoothskin he'd ever met before. She was actually unlike any employer he'd ever had before too, seemingly viewing him as a person instead of property, which was proven once again when she looked up at him imploringly, concern unnervingly very obvious in her grey eyes.

“Shotgun?”

Charon grunted in confirmation.

“I'm _so_ sorry,” she murmured, before thankfully turning her attention back to his bicep. “It looks like only a few pellet hit you at least, so it shouldn't take to long to patch you up... if you'll let me?”

She looked up at him again, her large eyes giving him such an unnecessarily hopeful look... almost like she genuinely wanted to help him... that Charon was forced to look away. He wasn't sure what trick his new employer was trying to play but he refused to fall for it; even though she _had_ tried to free him from his contract when they'd first met, there had to be some sort of catch. But then something soft gently touched his hand, and Charon barely managed to stop himself from flinching when his gaze snapped back to his employer, and realised it was her fingertips light resting over the back of his hand. He watched in shock as a tear silently rolled down her smooth cheek, and the sight unexpectedly made his chest feel suddenly tight, because despite experience telling him this was all for show, Charon couldn't deny that his employer seemed to _genuinely_ care that he'd been hurt. She seemed to honestly want to help, instead of using it against him, to bend him further to her will. It was a startling realisation. Unnerving. Terrifying. Appreciated?

“Okay,” he stated, his ravaged throat making the word harsher than he'd intended, as he pushed the Med-Kit towards her with his foot.

“Are you sure?” she asked, glancing up at him.

Charon scowled at the wall just over her shoulder. “Your hands are smaller than mine.”

* * *

Smiling softly, Hope gave his large hand a gentle squeeze, before leaning over him to make the gas lantern a little brighter. Out the corner of her eye she noticed Charon starring at her in surprise, making her realise she'd invaded his personal space without thinking, and she offered him an apologetic smile before turning her attention to the Med-Kit. Thankfully, she'd only recently stocked it up... including some ghoul-strength chems she'd bought in Underworld, that she'd remembered to put away before she'd fallen into bed... so all the supplies she needed to patch up her companion were right at hand. However, Hope hadn't tended a ghoul for anything other than a black-eye before, so her first stumbling block came the moment she realised Charon's rad-burnt skin hid his veins, and she popped a bubblegum bubble in annoyance. She had no idea where to inject the high strength Med-X that he'd need for the extraction, which Charon must have realised since he took the syringe off her without meeting her eye, though paused over a spot long enough for Hope to take note of it, before he injected himself. She took the used syringe off him the moment he'd withdrawn the needle from his bicep, and discarded it in the make-shift Sharps box she'd fashioned out of a disinfected Salisbury Stake tin, before setting about gathering the rest of her tools whilst they waited for the chem to kick in.

“Now,” Charon eventually muttered.

Flashing him another brief smile, Hope set about extracting the shotgun pellets... finding half a dozen... before rinsing the wound with a carton of dirty water; since she'd asked Doc Burrows 'hypothetical' questions about ghoul health the first time she'd ventured to Underworld, in case Gob ever needed really patching up. Carefully she checked around Charon's wound for swelling, and although nothing felt too out of the ordinary for ghoul skin, she asked Charon just to make sure. He gave a grunt that Hope took to mean that everything looked and felt the same as usual for him, minus the bullet hole, which meant she could finally administer one of the Stimpacks she'd bought from Doc Burrows. In a not quite comfortable silence, they both watched as his withered skin slowly knit back together and once the wound was gone, Hope couldn't help heaving a relieved sigh.

“Better?” she asked, tidying away their supplies.

Charon gave another grunt, before gruffly adding: “Thanks.”

“What are partners for?” Hope retorted, barely resisting the urge to laugh at the look the ghoul gave her. “I'll see you in the morning, big guy.”

He didn't even bother grunting in reply, just gave her another unreadable look as she stowed the Med-Kit back under the sofa where she always hid it, which had her chuckling all the way to her room. However, although she couldn't be sure, Hope thought she heard Charon mutter a quiet 'good night', just before he turned off the gas lantern and plunged their ramshackle house into darkness.


	3. Bonds

The saloon was far louder but no less packed than the Ninth had been, when Charon stepped over the threshold a few paces behind his employer, who'd foolishly forgone her combat armour... in his private opinion... and strode about the town in beat up jeans, a grey camisole, her regular combat boots and a leather jacket with some sort of snake on the back; the same outfit she'd been wearing when he'd first caught sight of her. The jacket was obviously meant for a man since it dwarfed her petite frame, and her copper hair was free of her usual bun though instead of it being loose like it had been the day they met, she wore it in a braid that curled over the shoulder her oversized jacket kept slipping off. She looked good, not that Charon would ever admit that out loud, but he'd been conditioned to uphold his contract not lobotomised, and since his eyes still worked, he knew his mistress was an attractive woman. The fact several other patrons took obvious notice of her just proved the fact, though Charon categorised them as non-threats... including the ghoul bartender that he was genuinely surprised to see, though didn't outwardly show it... all except one. A guy with a bandanna and eye patch, that left his seat and moved to intercept his employer. Charon moved in between them, barely resisting the urge to reach for his shotgun, and glared at the man who had the audacity to glance around his hulking frame to speak to his mistress.

“Well, this is new,” the man grinned.

His mistress actually laughed, before unexpected resting her hand between his shoulder blades. “It's alright Charon, Billy's a friend.”

He grunted his acknowledgement and reluctantly stepped aside, scanning the room for any more potential threats and the two hug before walking towards the bar, leaving Charon to trail after them.

“So... going to tell me about tall and broody?” the man asked.

“That's exactly what I wanted to know.”

Charon turned his head at the new voice, and found a woman with short auburn hair wearing a miniscule denim dress, looking between him and his mistress with obvious curiosity; and he grit his teeth when his employer wasted no time in hugging the woman in greeting as well... it was like she was asking to get stabbed in the gut.

“Billy, Nova, meet Charon. I helped him out with a situation, and we figured it best to keep travel together,” she stated, diplomatically. “Charon, meet Billy and Nova. They're two of the three friends I made when I first got here.”

“Ah, that makes more sense,” the man... Billy... stated.

He clenched his teeth, waiting for the bigotry that was obviously about to follow, so was surprised when the man simply continued with:

“For a moment I thought you'd hired a bodyguard.”

The woman laughed. “What the hell would she need a bodyguard for?”

“That's exactly my point,” the man grinned.

But before his mistress could say anything, there was a commotion from the other side of the bar, and Charon glanced over to see if it could be a potential threat to his employer. He wasn't at all surprised to find someone giving the bartender a hard time, it was the type of thing you expected from smoothskins when you were a ghoul, but what did phase Charon was his employer suddenly storming over and pulling a combat knife on the jeering bastard. His whole body had tensed as he watched the five foot nothing woman square up to the relatively tall, dark skinned mercenary and instinctively reached for his shotgun, expecting to have to put himself bodily between the pair to protect her. However, Charon's fingers had only grazed the stock before he watched the man unexpectedly hold up his hands in surrender.

“You sure know how to get a man going, short stuff,” the bastard chuckled.

“Fuck off, Jericho,” she replied, lowering her knife.

“You know you want me,” the man leered, stepping closer to her.

Charon moved instinctively, grabbing the bastard by the throat and giving a warning squeeze, but just like before, his mistress settled a hand between his shoulder blades.

“It's alright, Charon. Jericho just likes to run his mouth, you can let him go,” she stated, calmly.

Her words weren't exactly an order, but he felt compelled to follow them; though he wasn't sure if that was the contract or his own... limited.. volition. Still, his mistress hadn't sounded angry when she asked him to stop, and Charon didn't want to risk pissing her off just yet since she'd been nice enough to him so far. It seemed stupid to risk her good favour over something like this, so he let the bastard go with a hard shove, making him stumble a safe distance away from his employer as a precaution.

“I thought you'd be a kinky bitch, but I didn't think a pretty thing like you'd be fucking a shuffler,” the bastard jeered.

“Seriously, Jericho... just fuck off,” his mistress said, wavering a hand dismissively. “I can't be arsed with your drunken bullshit today.”

Surprisingly, the bastard actually did slink off to another corner of the bar, though Charon couldn't ignore the feeling of being glared at. It made a sense of unease crawl up his spine, but as per his training, he didn't let it show. However, his employer must have noticed something that gave him away... she was turning out to be annoyingly perceptive... since she gave him an assessing look before murmuring just loud enough for him to hear:

“Just let me check on Gob, then we can get out of here, okay?”

* * *

Hope wasn't sure exactly what was wrong, whether it was something to do with that blasted contract or if it was solely Charon, but she could sense that there was _something_ up with her towering companion. She wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable with what Jericho had insinuated, which she wouldn't blame him all things considered, or if it was just being back in a bar so soon after only just leaving the rotten dive he'd been forced to guard for who-knew-how-long, but she wouldn't linger if he didn't want too. However, there was no way she could leave without checking on her friend, so after a quick glance at the door that lead to the back office to check Moriarty wasn't about to emerge, Hope leant over the bar and gently lay her hand on Gob's arm. Like always, her friend flinched before flashing her a sheepish smile in apology.

“Thanks for that,” Gob stated, his eyes darting to where Jericho had slunk off too.

“It's what friends do,” she assured, before whispering: “Has it been bad whilst I've been gone?”

“No worse than usually,” he shrugged. “But before we tempt fate... what can I get you smoothskin?”

Hope smirked at the nickname and ordered a beer for herself, before turning to her companion. “Charon?”

“Smoothskin,” he replied, deadpan.

She rolled her eyes good naturedly, muttering: “Damn ghouls,” not quite under her breath, before turning back to Gob. “Can I get another beer for the wiseguy as well?”


	4. Friendship

“Fuck 'em! Amata was always a stuck up bitch.”

Hope's lips twitched in a hint of a smile as Butch draped his arm casually around her shoulders, once he'd finished squinting at the harsh wasteland sun. Sighing fondly, she offered him some bubblegum before popping a fresh piece in her own mouth. They might never have been close growing up, but in the last few years before she was forced to flee the vault, her and Butch had grown closer; about the same time her and Amata had grown apart. Hope had never really thought much of it at the time, but now after everything that had happened, she couldn't help wondering if Butch's problem had been her one-time friend rather than her. Hope popped a bubblegum bubble as she looked at Butch thoughtfully. She guessed it didn't matter any more, especially after Amata had shown her true colours. She supposed Butch had too, since he'd insisted on leaving the vault the moment he'd heard she was being banished, and she was damn proud of him for finally deciding to leave like he'd always wanted too... not to mention touched that he'd essentially chosen her, when all was said and done.

“Seriously, Doc. You were always too good for her,” Butch continued.

“You know we weren't dating, right?” she smirked, unstrapping her pistol from her thigh and offering it to him.

“That bitch didn't deserve you as a fucking friend, never mind anything else,” he continued, accepting the weapon without further comment.

Charon gave a grunt that sounded like it could have been an agreement, but when Hope gave him a questioning look, he merely stated: “We should head out, it'll be dark soon.”

He had a point and she nodded her agreement, though Hope was pleasantly surprised Butch didn't run his mouth as they made the trek from the vault, through the ruins of Springvale, down to Megaton. In fact he was as silent as they were as they made the two hour journey, only muttering a quiet thanks when she took out a fire ant that had surprised him, then winked when he returned the favour a little later by knifing one that snuck up behind her, whilst she'd helped Charon deal with the pair of radscorpians that had investigated the commotion. It was an easy companionship she hadn't realised she'd missed until they'd reunited, but from the way Butch eyed Megaton as they headed for the house she now shared with Charon, Hope knew her friend wouldn't be sticking around.

“There's a place called Rivet City a few days walk I think you'd prefer,” she said, in hushed tones.

“Sounds... good,” Butch replied, flashing her a smirk.

“I need to catch up with a friend there, we could head down together in a day or two,” Hope stated, because she knew he wouldn't accept help if she offered.

“That's cool. Is there anywhere I can shack up 'til we leave?”

Hope huffed a laugh, and bumped her shoulder against his. “With me, you dork.”

* * *

Charon clenched his teeth when he heard the offer his mistress gave her friend, even if it wasn't his place to have an opinion on who she took to her bed... or who she invited into her home; even if he'd almost enjoyed it just being the two of them and the dog, and the snooty robot butler. It had been oddly peaceful in a way Charon didn't want to look into too deeply. Of course he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, since the way his employer treated him was still too good to be true after everything he'd endured in the past two hundred years, but now that she'd invited this punk to stay, Charon supposed he was about to witness her true colours. However, he certainly didn't expect the image he had of her in his head to shatter the minute they were safely inside her cluttered house, and her friend asked:

“So where's your old man?”

“He's...”

His mistress didn't finish her sentence as her voice cracked, and she whirled away from them both, but not before Charon saw the tears welling in her grey eyes. In the week he'd known her, he'd never once thought to question why a young woman was out in the wastes on her own... he'd not thought to question anything other than her suspicious niceness towards him... but as he heard her breath shudder, Charon unexpectedly wished he'd made more effort the times his employer tried to draw him into conversation. Because despite her emotional well-being not being something he needed to concern himself with, he actually felt an almost uncontrollable urge to do _something_ when her shoulders started to tremble. However, his mistress wasn't in physical pain or in immediate danger, so his training hadn't given Charon any knowledge of how to act... not that he would have had the opportunity, because the punk was suddenly at her side and wrapping his arms awkwardly around her, despite her combat armour.

“Shit, Doc! What the fuck? You wanna talk about it?”

“No... yes... I don't know,” she gasped, burying her face in the crook of the man's neck.

“Alright, this is obviously a booze situation, you got any in?” her friend asked, looking up at him.

Gritting his teeth, Charon didn't bother to reply but still went and dug out the few bottles of whiskey he'd seen his mistress stash under the kitchen sink, before taking a seat at the rusty table that stood next to the stairs. He didn't like the thought of her drinking when she was obviously already not in her right mind, but it wasn't his place to judge; though that didn't mean he wasn't going to keep an eye on the punk to make sure he didn't try to harm his employer in anyway. However, Charon refused to acknowledge his own relief when his mistress headed up to her room alone, whilst her friend headed for the kitchenette.

“Hey man, you guys got any mixers?” the punk asked, already rummaging through the crates that were used to organise the rickety kitchen shelves.

“Middle box, second shelf.”

Charon's head snapped up at the sound of his mistress' quiet voice, tracking her as she came down the creaky stairs in her jeans and oversized leather jacket, the dog trotting dutifully at her heels. There was a clank from the kitchenette that Charon chose to ignore in favour of watching his employer shake out her long copper hair, which really shouldn't have been as mesmerising as it was proving to be. Though the moment her friend gave an amused snort, Charon snapped back to attention and turned to glare at the punk; only to find him giving his mistress an appreciative look, and not paying him any attention.

“Fuck! You still have my jacket?”

“What? It's comfy,” she defended, before blowing and popping a bubblegum bubble.

“You'll be saying you missed me next,” the punk smirk.

He watched impassively as his mistress walked over, right into the open arms of her friend. He refused to acknowledge the way his stomach churned at the sight, and took to glaring at the scuffed metal floor before a chipped mug filled with presumably whiskey and nuka cola entered his peripheral vision. He looked up then, finding his employer offering it to him, a strained smile pulling at her lips; like she was trying to be cheerful for their sakes. He accepted it without a second thought, even though he hadn't been watching to see if they'd slipped anything into it, and tracked his mistress' movements as she headed towards the beat up sofa that sat between her workbench and jukebox. Her friend followed her immediately, and didn't waste a moment draping his arm around her shoulders before annoyingly beginning to play with her hair.

“You're letting me cut this before we head out,” the punk announced.

Charon clenched his jaw in aggravation.

“It needs a damn good trim,” his mistress replied, before resting her head on her friend's shoulder. “I'm glad you're here, Butch.”

“Me too, Doc,” he replied. “But I got a lot of questions, so let's start with the easiest: what's up with your... er... man?”

His mistress glanced up at her friend, before her grey eyes drifted to him. He met her gaze, unwaveringly, almost daring her to say something about how he wasn't a man but a ghoul.

“Charon? He's my partner.”

He blinked at her, certain his face didn't betray his surprise despite her full lips quirking up at the corners. Others might have called her smile affectionate, but Charon hadn't drank enough of the gods-awful concoction in his mug to be so ridiculous. Though he almost laughed at how the punk suddenly straightened up, his eyes wide as he hurriedly removed his arm from around his employer's shoulders.

“Shit, Doc! Why didn't you...? Sorry man! I swear I didn't know...” he rambled, looking between them.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise when his mistress suddenly burst out laughing, and Charon refused to acknowledge he was disappointed that he'd actually been right about her all along. But then her laughter subsided, though she was still smirking when she lightly smacked her friend in the stomach with the back of her hand, before she popped another bubblegum bubble.

“Fuck sake, Butch. I've only known Charon a week, we're just friends. I helped him out with a situation and we decided to work together after that,” she explained, before draining her mug.

“So why you shacked up together if you've only known each other a week?” her friend asked, glancing between them.

“You mean apart from the fact he took a shotgun blast for me? If you'd seen the bunkhouse or the prices Moriarty charges for a room, you wouldn't be asking that,” his mistress stated, glibly.

The punk gaped at her. “He... what?”

“It was a few pellets,” Charon corrected, gruffly.

“That would have killed me if they'd hit me in the face,” his employer countered, getting up to presumably refill her mug, though she unexpectedly paused beside him and bent down to briefly press her ridiculously soft lips against his withered cheek. “So you're still my hero.”


	5. Unexpected

“You better put that zombie on a leash before I put him down.”

Charon grit his teeth at the bigotry; angry at his mistress for coming to the Brotherhood stronghold in the first place, and angry that since his employer was a smoothskin, she inevitable wasn't going to let him react. After all, he'd been conditioned to uphold the contract not lobotomised, and just like he could appreciate his mistress' attractiveness, Charon still had other opinions and even emotions that he kept tight lipped about. But then his employer unexpectedly drew her side-arm and raised the pistol at the bigot's face, loudly popping a bubblegum bubble before bothering to turn her head to the glance at the man as she clicked off the safety. Charon's hands twitched to reach for his shotgun, his conditioning screaming at him that he needed to defend his employer, but common sense kept his hands by his sides, not wanting to escalate the situation before one of the other bigots reached for their weapon... just in case there was a small chance his five foot nothing mistress wasn't insane and actually knew what the fuck she was doing.

“You want to repeat that?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm.

The bigot glared at her with obvious disgust, despite the pistol pointed at his face. “Dirty ghoulfucker.”

Honestly, Charon was shocked his mistress didn't react to the slur, except for obnoxiously popping a bubble like she didn't care that she'd just been called the worst thing a smoothskin could be. But before he could think on it any further, another bigot came running over. Charon's shotgun was in his hands in a heartbeat, though he held off from firing because the woman wasn't carrying a weapon, and even slowed her approach when she got nearer, her hands held up placatingly as she looked imploringly at his employer.

“Ma'am, please... whatever infringement the private has caused will be reprimanded, but we'd appreciate if you didn't kill him,” the woman grovelled.

“She brought an abomination into the Citadel, Ma'am!” the bigot defended, angrily.

“That is the Lone Wanderer, private, and you'll treat her and any... companion she brings with respect,” the woman stated, before turning pleading eyes to his employer. “I'm so sorry for this misunderstanding, ma'am. If there is anything...”

Charon mind whirled at this new piece of information. Of course he'd heard of the Lone Wandered and her exploits before, the GNR was the only radio station Ahzrukhal had allowed in his bar. He'd been secretly impressed as he passively listened to the stories, but he'd never put two and two together once he'd met his mistress. Because regardless of the fact that he'd never bothered trying to image what the Lone Wanderer looked like, Charon would never have pictured a tiny woman who wore scavenged armour with the old faction's emblem crudely scratched off, who's copper coloured hair was perpetually pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, who's big grey eyes never looked well rested, and who had enough curves to make it obvious she hadn't grown up in the Wastes. Not that it mattered who his employer was, he was bound to serve her regardless... though it made her trying to release him make a _little_ more sense now. However, Charon didn't outwardly react to the revelation, and instead remained hyper-vigilant for any threat as he watched his mistress pop another bubble, before she finally lowered her side-arm. The bigot that had gone deathly white at the mention of her surprising title breathed a sigh of relief, before his employer suddenly punched the bastard hard in the gut. The bigot crumbled to the floor groaning in pain, and Charon could have smiled at his mistress' unexpected... and uncharacteristic... violence, if he wasn't hyper-aware of the crowd they'd attracted and the danger it presented.

* * *

Hope was still fuming as they followed the scribe through the corridors to the room she'd requested, and angrily popped several bubblegum bubbles until they reached their designated quarters. Of course the woman had tried to give them separate rooms, but Hope had outright refused; there was no chance she was risking Charon's safety after what had happened in the courtyard. Hope didn't care if these bastards thought she was a ghoulfucker because of it, she'd only helped the bigots because they'd been the best bet of fulfilling her dad's dying wish, and now it was abundantly clear it was time to cut ties with the Brotherhood of Steel for good... it was just a shame the Citadel was the only safe haven to spend the night for miles around. Normally Hope would have been content to just hole up somewhere defensible out in the wastes, but after getting covered in Super Mutant innards twice in one day, the promise of a luxurious lukewarm shower had been too tempting to ignore. But now she was seriously regretting putting her own comfort above Charon's, though in her limited defence, Hope hadn't expected the Brotherhood to treat her companion so poorly after everything she'd done for them. However, she knew that wasn't a good enough excuse, so the moment they were alone in their private quarters for the night, Hope wasted no time in turning to her towering companion.

“I'm so sorry, Charon,” she stated, looking up at him.

“There's nothing to apologise for,” he replied gruffly, giving her his patented unreadable look.

She blew out a breath, and risked slowly reaching over to rest her hand on his armoured forearm. “Yes there is, I wasn't thinking what coming might mean for you. I didn't think they'd treat you like that, but that's no excuse. I'm sorry.”

For a long drawn out moment, Charon simply regarded her silently before he gave a brisk nod. “I... appreciate what you did.”

A smile tried to curl her lips, as she popped a small bubble to try hide how pleased she was that he wasn't holding her fuck up against her. “It was the least I could do.”

“No, it wasn't,” he replied, succinctly.

Hope huffed a laugh, unable to argue with that. “I'd give you a hug, but...” she trailed off to gesture at her gore covered armour.

It might have been a trick of the dim lighting, but she was almost certain Charon's milky eyes softened as he stated: “Go get your shower, smoothskin.”


	6. Circumstances

Hope startled when Charon's large hand wrapped around her forearm, and tugged her backwards until she almost collided with his solid chest. She couldn't really see much of him or anything else in the dim light, but she could just about make out the sheen of his eyes in the gloom, so she tilted her head in his direction and waited for him to speak. However, instead of saying anything... which wasn't a total shock... he reached over for her Pipboy. She'd shown him how to use during the first few days of travelling together, so he quickly brought up the map which prompted Hope to swallow thickly. There were an awful lot of red dots, too many in her opinion, and understanding what he wasn't saying, Hope gently brushed his large hand away and scrolled through the local map until she found what looked like an unoccupied storage room that was back the way they came. For the briefest second, she felt him squeeze her shoulder in silent confirmation before he gave her a light shove in that direction and taking the hint, Hope led the way to the small room before picking the lock with ease. Charon rushed in and did a quick sweep, but other than a few crumpled cardboard boxes and a steel desk that was missing it's chair, there was nothing at all in the room but them... not even a radroach. Satisfied they were safe, Hope relocked the door before illuminating the small space with her Pipboy's torch.

“Thoughts?” she asked, without preamble.

“Ferals.”

“Fuck...” Hope muttered, finally popping the bubblegum bubble she'd been dying to blow since she'd seen the red dots. “Any ideas? Because I don't fancy doubling back with those super mutants lumbering about out there, unless you think it's the better option?”

Charon crossed his arm. “Not with our current ammo.”

“I know you've got something on your mind, Big Guy,” she told him. “You know I'll listen.”

“Ferals have poor eyesight, but keen sense of smell and hearing. You need to smell like one of us.”

She popped another bubble to hide her annoyance. “I wish you didn't say things like that, you're nothing like those creatures.”

He gave her unreadable look, before staring at something just over her shoulder. “Close enough for them to think we smell alike.”

“You smell nothing like them!” Hope gasped, appalled by the notion. “I think I'd have noticed if you smelt like rotting flesh, we've been living together for long enough.”

Charon gave a non-committal grunt.

“Maybe it's some sort of pheromone?” Hope conceded, cautiously. “I'm not trying to discredit you, I just hate the whole 'ghouls could turn into ferals' and the rest of the bigoted bullshit. Because, you know, it's a medically unsound argument. That's not how radiation works.”

* * *

Despite his best efforts, the corner of Charon's mouth twitched with the urge to smile. It wasn't the first time he'd heard her so vehemently defend ghouls, but it was always... nice, to hear the conviction in her voice. However, the past few weeks had already taught him that his employer could talk at length when she felt passionately about something, and despite how charismatic the smoothskin was, debating the topic wasn't going to come up with a solution. So after taking a subtle steadying breath, Charon grabbed her biceps as gently as he could and looked at her intently. She shut up immediately, and unexpectedly flashed him a sheepish smile that Charon found surprisingly... cute, regardless of the fact it was completely inappropriate to have those sort of thoughts about his employer.

“I know, I know... focus Hope,” she said, giving a self-depreciating chuckle. “Not the time or the place. So... ferals. Any ideas?”

“Hope. That's your name?”

Honestly, Charon hadn't meant to say that aloud; because not only was it completely irrelevant to their situation, she was his employer and didn't matter what her name was, he was bound to her orders anyway... regardless of how decent she'd treated him in the month she'd held his contract. However, the words slipped out before he could bite them back, because he'd never suspect that his employer would have such a frivolous name. However, considering what he'd seen of her so far and the jobs she'd taken him on, he had to admit that despite his habitual wariness, the name did sort of suit her; she certainly seemed to inspire hope in the people she helped, and perhaps begrudgingly in him as well.

“Yeah...” she said at length, rolling her eyes. “Nothing like saddling a kid with a name that comes with high expectations, huh? But yeah... Hope. I'm not exactly fond of it though, so whilst I'm not banning you from using it, I'd really prefer if you didn't.”

Charon gave her a succinct nod. “Whatever you say, smoothskin.”

“Thanks Charon, I really appreciate it,” she stated, tucking some errant wisps of copper hair behind her ear. “But anyway... the ferals. What's your plan? Because I know you've already thought of one.”

“You need to smell like a ghoul,” he repeated, gruffly.

“You want me to slather myself in feral blood?” she asked, her nose wrinkling in obvious distast, even as she popped a bubblegum bubble.

He shook his head, because whilst the thought had crossed his mind, there was too much risk of infection. Which left Charon with only one viable option to suggest to his employer, and the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to broach the subject with her... because what smoothskin in their right mind would willingly cover themselves with ghoul semen? Not to mention the problem of _how_ they'd cover her in his ejaculation in the first place.

“Cross contamination,” he stated, instead.

“At least we're on the same page about that,” Hope replied, popping a final bubble before spitting the gum into a disused wrapper she pulled from her pocket, then tossing it to the corner of the room. “I have an idea... but I want you to understand it's not an order. I'm just going to speak my mind and I'd like your opinion on it, but that's all I'm expecting. Your opinion. Is that okay?”

“As you wish,” Charon answered, his gravelly voice hiding his sudden wariness.

“If I need to smell like a ghoul...” she said, slowly. “Your semen should contain enough amines to achieve that, and the glandular secretions from the prostate and bulbourethral would mean it stayed viscous, which could make the scent last longer compared to saliva.”

Shock and relief warred for dominance inside him, though Charon couldn't do more than simply look at her for a long drawn out moment. It certainly made it easier for him now that she'd elegantly broached the subject, and it explained why the she'd seemed so hesitant to talk about it. It was... nice, that she'd thought to be so mindful of him, since it wasn't beyond imagination that she _could_ order him to cover her in semen; although the notion was incredibly unlikely, especially from Hope, that didn't negate the fact that she held his contract.

“I'd reached a similar conclusion,” Charon admitted, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

* * *

Hope took a step closer to the towering ghoul, and after a moment's hesitation, she rested her hand on his scarred and twisted forearm that was left bare by his combat armour. Charon flinched ever so slightly beneath her touch, so she immediately retracted her hand; she didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than the situation already had.

“Is it... is it something you'd want...” Hope broke off, shaking her head before taking a deep breath and locking her grey eyes with his milky ones. “Would it be something you'd be comfortable doing?”

“Yes,” he replied, sounding like it was forced between clenched teeth.

She shook her head again. “Doesn't sound like it, so we'll forget about it.”

“Smoothskin...” Charon rumbled. “I had already reached the same conclusion. It is fine.”

“No it's not,” Hope argued, vehemently. “That damn contract means I have no idea if you'd even be able to say no, it's why I've never....” She snapped her mouth shut and once again shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “Unless you can look me in the eye and give me enthusiastic and believable consent, then there's no way it's happening. Holding your contract is bad enough, I refuse to be a rapist as well.”

* * *

The corner of Charon's mouth twitched to smile again. None of his other employers had ever cared about his wants and feelings, not even when their safety wasn't in question. It made a foreign warmth settle in his chest, just like every other unexpected kind gesture she did for him. It was the type of thing that made him _want_ to protect her, above and beyond what the contact forced him to do. It was the type of thing that made his mind wander late at night. It was the type of dangerous thing that made him feel like a man, instead of the weapon he'd been turned into. And that was all before Charon took into consideration his employer's aborted sentence.

“What haven't you done?” he asked, bluntly.

“It doesn't really matter,” she evaded. “It's nothing important.”

Even after the month he'd spent at her side, being able to voice his wants and opinions was still such a novel... and sometimes daunting... notion. But she'd always made the attempt to reassure him that he could ask anything, say anything and she wouldn't punish him. So Charon cautiously stated: “I... would like to know.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to say no to you?” Hope asked, presumably rhetorically.

“Should I apologise?” he said, deadpan.

His employer huffed a laugh and shook her head. “It's my problem, not yours,” she started, before her smile faltered. “Charon... just... if you really want to know, just remember I'm only saying this because you asked, okay? I'm not hinting at anything, I'm not expecting anything, and I was perfectly content to keep my mouth shut about this. Okay?”

* * *

With her heart suddenly racing, Hope took a steadying breath and met Charon's unwavering gaze. Honestly, she didn't know why she was suddenly so nervous, it wasn't like she was some blushing virgin who'd never admitted to being attracted to a guy before. But somehow, as she looked up at Charon's scarred and rad-burnt face, Hope couldn't ignore the butterflies that decided to swirl around her stomach. Somehow this felt almost monumental, and not just because of the blasted contract that was hidden under a floorboard in her bedroom, but he'd asked and Hope felt like she owed him the truth.

“I find you incredibly attractive,” she admitted, wishing she had a piece of bubblegum to pop.

Charon gave a huff of... something. Though it was probably more of a scoff, since it was obvious from his suddenly rigid posture that he didn't believe her. Hope hated his reaction because sure, his ghoulish features weren't exactly handsome... what with the way his skin was withered and pockmarked or even missing in several places, revealing hardened muscle and twisted tendons. And sure, his patchy ginger hair and the milky cast to his blue eyes were more reminders he wasn't human. However, that didn't detract from his attractiveness as far as Hope was concerned, and surprisingly neither did his missing nose.

“I'm serious!” she instead, moving to perch on the scuffed desk. “It's your height and broad shoulders, it's your arms. They're just so... um, yeah... don't get me started on your arms.” She chuckled, a little self-consciously. “Then there's your voice, no one's voice should be that fucking sexy. Not to mention all the nice shit you do for me, that I know isn't in the contract... like maintaining my guns and making sure I've eaten.”

“Crazy Smoothskin,” Charon replied, sounding suspiciously fond.

“Personally, I think developing a crush on my friend is about the most normal thing I've done lately,” she defended, offering him a small smile.

“Friends?”

Hope shrugged, starting to feel a little foolish. “I consider you one at least.”

* * *

Charon's feet moved on their own accord, until he was close enough that his thighs knocked against Hope's knees. She tilted her head back to look up at him, but she didn't recoil like he'd expected she would, when he leant down to place his palms either side of her hips. They were so close that their noses would be touching if he had one, and his lips twitched with the urge to smile. When Hope had first said she found him attractive, he couldn't decide if she was just blatantly taking the piss out of him or if she was saying it in some misguided attempt to be kind, but as he watched her pupils dilate until her stormy eyes were more black than grey, it seemed she really did find him attractive; which was a lot to take in. It made Charon feel off kilter and far out of his depth, so he decided to stick to safer ground when he told her:

“I've never had a friend before.”

“Well for what it's worth, you have me,” Hope stated, offering a small smile.

Charon couldn't help the huff of laughter that escaped him. His employer, his _friend_ , really was crazy. Though her earlier revelation kept niggling the back of his mind. He'd found her attractive since the day they'd met, even if he'd spent most of the past month ignoring the fact since her kindness was already so alien to him, but knowing that she saw him not only as a person but as a man... made Charon wonder if perhaps there was a chance for them to be more than friends, at least behind close doors, because he'd never subject her to the sort of prejudice that would happen if it ever got out. Her safety was paramount, even without the contract demanding he protect her.

“I'm interested,” he stated, trying to soften his normally gruff tone.

Hope blinked at him, clearly surprised. “You are?”

“Cautious,” Charon admitted, daring to brush his ruined fingers against her hip. “But interested.”

“We should probably have a proper chat once we're home then,” she replied, tucking some errant strands of copper hair that had gotten loose from her bun, back behind her ear.

“You know the plan,” he stated.

“I said no, not unless you could give me enthusiastic consent,” she countered.

Hope had remained nose to nose bridge with him throughout their conversation, but when he didn't immediately reply... too busy trying to think of how he could convince her... she began to pull away. Charon hated it, and in a split second decision, he gently grabbed her wrist and guided her hand to press against the growing bulge in his combat trousers. If that wasn't proof he wanted this, wanted _her_ , Charon didn't know how he was going to prove it.

* * *

Hope's eyes widened slightly, pleasantly surprised by both his forwardness and what she could feel beneath her palm, and she began to gently massage him through his trousers. She hadn't expected Charon to let his head drop to rest against her shoulder, presumably so he could watch her hand rubbing against him, but it gave her an idea. So she dragged her palm along the outline of his length, skimmed over the pant's scratched button, before trailing her fingertips along the waistband.

"Can I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

A smile tugged at her lips, but Hope couldn't help it, she'd barely done anything and Charon already sounded close to wrecked. Without thinking, she turned her head just enough to press a lingering kiss to his temple, as she skilfully popped open the button and slowly drew down the zipper. Charon sucked in a breath as his length sprang free, and Hope wasted no time in circling him with her right hand. The skin was as withered and twisted as the rest of him, but just like the time she'd caught him topless, Hope wasn't put off by the fact. She gave his length a languid stroke... wanting to ease Charon into it... working from tip to base and back again, trying not to wonder how long it had been since someone had touched him for his pleasure. He groaned softly as she continued her ministrations, which prompted Hope to cup Charon's cheek with her free hand and murmur:

“Can I kiss you?”

* * *

Whatever Charon had been expecting when his smoothskin had gently touched his face, that wasn't it. The groan that escaped him was almost obscene, and the one that followed thanks to a particularly amazing twist of her wrist wasn't much better, but he didn't care. Because Hope... his friend... his _lover_... was looking at him like he was something important, touching him like she'd only ever seen him as a man. So Charon didn't even think when he surged forward, his thin lips pressing without finesse against her ludicrously plump ones, and his left hand tangled in her copper locks to pull it fully from the loose bun she'd tied it in. His right clamped on to her hip as she slowly licked the seam of his lips, and Charon didn't even think before granting her silent request; though he nearly huffed in amusement when he could taste bubblegum on her tongue. All the while, Hope continued her almost maddeningly sedate strokes, it was almost as if she was more bothered with his pleasure than achieving her goal... Charon's brain almost ground to a halt on that thought, as he belatedly realised that was _exactly_ what his smoothskin was doing.

“You're trying to please me,” he rumbled.

Hope frowned at him. “Well... yeah. Unless you want me to stop.”

“But... why?” Charon asked, before grunting in annoyance at his own stupid question. “Why aren't you concerned about getting it done quickly?”

“Because you deserve better than that,” she replied, her stormy eyes looking sad. “Because as long as you're willing, I want to make you feel good.”

Charon's answering groan was almost a growl, and he couldn't help pulling his smoothskin back to him by tugging on her belt loops, his hands blindly searching for the fastenings of her combat pants. “You sure, smoothskin?”

“Definitely,” she assured, lifting her hips so he could push down her trousers and underwear.

He swallowed thickly at the way she regarded him, need and want so evident it made him want to growl possessively. But he bit it back; Hope looked at him like he was a man and he wasn't about to jeopardise that, so he settled on kissing her breathless, their tongues warring for dominance as instinct guided Charon to trail his hand over her bare hip and soft thigh, until his rough and twisted fingers brushed her apex. Hope gasped immediately, her back arching ever so slightly, bringing her closer towards him. Charon barely resisted the urge to simply stare at her, he couldn't believe how responsive she was. He slid one then a second finger into her heat without resistance, marvelling that Hope obviously wanted _him_ and that she trusted him so intimately. But as he experimentally crooked his fingers, her hand flew out to grab his wrist.

“Charon. I want... can we... do you...?”

She gave a frustrated groan, prompting him to press a gentle kiss to her forehead as he carefully withdrew his hand. He couldn't believe Hope was still so concerned about how she worded her request, and Charon understood that she was doing her best not to give him an accidental order. It was a heady realisation, knowing that his smoothskin genuinely cared for him. So Charon took her hands and helped her off the desk, pausing to give her as sweet a kiss as he could manage, before turning Hope until her back was against his chest. It seemed she understood without him needing to find the words, because she immediately braced her forearms against the scratched surface in front of her. It wasn't the perfect angle, and Charon had to bend his knees in order to line himself up, but they moaned in unison as he slid to the hilt. Hope dropped her head forward to rest on her arms, and blew out shaky breath as his hands flexed against her hips.

“Are you... okay?” he asked, worried he'd hurt her.

“Wonderful,” she breathed, glancing over her shoulder at him.

Charon sighed in relief as he bent over her, his arms bracketed her in place. He dropped his head to rest in between her shoulder blades as he gave an experimental roll of his hips. But he grit his teeth, it felt too good and it had been too long; he couldn't even remember the last time he'd relieved himself, nevermind had a partner.

“I wont last,” he grumbled, ashamed.

“It's okay,” she reassured, moving to rest one of her hands over his. “We'll have time when we're home, if you want...”

He laced his fingers with hers. “Yes.”

Rolling his hips, Charon tried to take it slow but Hope's drawn out moan made it difficult to control himself. Her free hand scrambled for purchase on the desk as he thrust forward in a powerful stroke, but as much as he wanted to make it good for her, Charon couldn't make it last. He hurriedly withdrew from her, even as he pressed his ruined lips to the back of her neck to stifle his own groan, clamping a hand over his length to catching his lease and stepped away to give her room to move, figuring she probably wouldn't want him to remain close. So he was surprised when Hope pressed a kiss to his withered cheek, before quickly pulling up her underwear and trousers. Charon raised his cupped hands towards her, waiting for her nod of agreement before slowly smearing his release across her chest and arms, barely containing a huff of laughter at the face she pulled, before righting his own clothes.

“You ready, smoothskin?” he asked, his lips twitching into a smile.

Hope rolled her eyes but pushed up on her toes to press her lips against his, causing him to flinch slightly, still not expecting the gesture. Though when she moved to pull away from him, already murmuring an apology, his sticky hands cupped her face and drew her closer. He tried to make their kiss slower and sweet, wanting to let Hope to know he genuinely cared about her, and by the time she broke away to breath, Charon felt like he'd accomplished something good when she smiled up at him gently.


	7. Heartbeats

The pain was excruciating. His side felt like it was on fire from where shrapnel had slipped passed a crack in his armour and embedded itself somewhere between his ribs. The grenade blast had knocked the wind out of him and sent him crashing to the floor. For a split second, the pain was all Charon could focus on. The next, the conditioning from the contract was practically screaming in his head that he _had_ to protect the contract holder. So he pushed himself up on trembling arms, not paying the rapidly growing patch of blood beneath him any attention. Ignoring the pounding in his head and the ringing in what was left of his ears, Charon blinked through the choking smoke and dust clouds to see Hope's back as she ran. She was almost at the metro tunnels they'd come from, which was good. She needed to get out of here, needed to be safe, which meant he couldn't distract her from her escape. So he grit his teeth when a bullet ripped through his bicep, though despite how hard he tried, Charon couldn't help yelling in pain as another shattered his knee cap and sent him back to the ground. But if they were still taking potshots at him it meant she was safe, and that's all he cared about.

Hope's head whipped around at the sound of Charon's uncharacteristic yell, her body practically followed the move instinctively, since she was already turning back before she'd fully processed her companion wasn't behind her and her stomach lurched at what she saw. Charon was laying on the ground with a worryingly large patch of blood soaking into the dirt, which was visible even through the dust and smoke. Hope sprinted back to him without a second thought, her hand reaching into the sachet bag she'd started carrying since giving her backpack to Charon, whilst her other reached for the flip lighter in the pocket of her combat pants. She flicked it open, lighting the fuse of the Molotov cocktail whilst still running, and used her momentum as she skidded to a stop beside Charon to launch the bomb at the bastards who were shooting at them. The sound of gunfire devolved into screams, though Hope threw a couple of grenades just for good measure before stooping down and grabbing one of Charon's hands to see if there was a reaction; since despite her training, she doubted she'd be able to feel a pulse through his rad-burnt skin.

“Please, please, please,” she muttered, barely resisting the urge to grab some gum to chew in the hopes of calming her nerves.

His warped fingers twitched slightly, causing Hope to choke back a relieved sob as she bent down lower to drag his unwounded arm over her shoulder. Her heart constricted as Charon groaned, and she was certain that it was more instinct than conscious choice that had him trying to get to his feet. She braced his weight as much as she could, but damn! A well built, nearly seven foot ghoul wearing combat armour was _heavy_.

“Come on, babe! We've got to get out of here,” she urged, trying to keep calm despite her growing panic.

Somehow, they got him to his feet, then at a far slower pace than Hope would have liked, she helped Charon hobble to the metro tunnel they'd not long exited. There was an office right next to the entrance, and she guided him to sit in the rusty metal desk chair thanks to the eerie glow cast by her Pipboy, before running back and slamming the door shut. Hope turned the crank handle to lock it, then pushed and shoved until she managed to topple over a large metal filing cabinet, not wanting to take any chances when Charon was injured. It rested diagonally between the narrow walls, effectively barricading the door until they were ready to leave, though for extra peace of mind Hope jerry-rigged a shotgun tripwire for good measure before hurrying back to Charon. She set her satchel on the beat up desk, retrieving the travelling medi-kit she'd created the moment she'd finally bought the medical station from Moira; it was stocked to be a portable clinic, so she actually had everything on hand that she needed to heal her companion. So she unclipped her Pipboy and set it down beside her bag, angling it to give her the best possible light to work in.

Charon grit his teeth as Hope helped him shrug off his backpack, then undid the the clasps and buckles of his upper armour surprisingly quickly, as he inwardly seethed whilst she eased his blood soaked t-shirt off him as well. He was angry at himself for being injured, angry at her for running back for him, angry at the mercs who'd ambushed them, angry that Hope was about to realise how truly disgusting he was; of course she'd seen him shirtless the last time she'd helped patch him up, but she'd only been his employer at the time. She hadn't said a word since she'd helped him to his feet... since all five-foot-nothing of her had practically dragged his sorry ass to safety. Ashamed and furious, Charon fixed his milk eyes on a crack in the old tiled floor, though almost screwed his eyes shut when he felt Hope's hands tremble as she finally touched his revoltingly warped torso. And despite knowing he shouldn't be surprised, her rejection still stung.

“I don't know if I have enough Med-X to help numb the pain,” she stated, quietly.

“Don't waste supplies, smoothskin,” he grit out.

Hope sighed. “I'm just... sorry if I hurt you. I knew I should have bought more supplies off Burrows before we left Underworld.”

“It's fine,” he muttered, tersely.

She sighed again but didn't bother replying. Charon was a stubborn man, and Hope knew him well enough to know he was angry about something. So she disinfected her hands with a little vodka before grabbing the tongs from the medi-kit, then stretched his twisted and pockmarked skin the best she could around the wicked piece of metal that was embedded into his side, so she could carefully begin to extract the projectile. Charon was unsurprisingly silently, though the way he clenched his jaw gave away the amount of pain he was in. In all honesty, Hope desperately wanted to just throw her arms around him, but apart from the fact that what he needed from her right then was her medical expertise, she doubted Charon would let her comfort him anyway. Sure, they'd had sex to escape the feral infested tunnels just hours before, and they'd both admitted to having feelings for each other, but Hope could practically feel him rebuilding the walls between them. It _hurt_ , but she'd always known caring about Charon was never going to be easy. So instead of talking she devoted herself to patching him up by extracting the metal fragments and bullets, cleaning out the wounds and injecting the Stimpacks he needed but tried to argue against, as well as the bloodpack she inserted into his uninjured arm before suspending the bag from the broken desk lamp.

“I think we should camp here tonight and head out in the morning,” she mused, packing away the medi-kit.

“If that's what you order,” he replied, coolly.

Irritated, Hope grit her teeth before deciding 'fuck it' and whipped around to face him. “You know what? As your doctor, I'm absolutely ordering you to fucking rest. You could have died from the blood loss alone, or the shrapnel that was just shy on lacerating your lung... not to mention we still haven't figured out a brace for your knee, since the bones will still take time to heal even with the Stimpacks. So if you're not going to have any common sense, then you fucking bet I'm not beyond ordering you to rest, you stupidly stubborn man!”

Honestly, Charon fought the urge to stare at her in shock. In the month she'd held his contract, he'd never so much as seen Hope raise her voice let alone get angry even when they were in the middle of a fire fight, not to mention she'd actually issued an order; granted, the fact it was an order for him to rest might have made Charon chuckle, if he wasn't still so angry that she'd put her life at risk by running back for him.

“And talking of orders... _please_ don't make me order you to tell me what's wrong,” Hope said, wearily. “I care about you, Charon, but I'm not a mind reader. After... earlier, I thought we...” She trailed off to sigh, as she carefully removed the needle from his arm. “It doesn't matter what I thought, but it seems like you're mad at me for something now, and I can't apologise or explain if you don't tell me what's wrong.”

Charon regarded her for a long drawn out moment, the eerie orange light from her Pipboy made her grey eyes look almost black, and her copper hair that was falling out of it's customary bun looked almost fiery. Her full lips were downturned, her brow was creased, her pretty face streaked with dirt and her dainty hands were still stained with his blood. But her palms were warm against his rapidly cooling skin, making Charon extremely aware of his state of undress and how much of his ruined body Hope could see. Of course she'd always known he was a ghoul... there was no hiding it... and she hadn't seemed repulsed by him earlier but her life had been on the line at the time, so it stood to reason she'd be regretting it now. Charon couldn't really blame her, he didn't like seeing what he looked like so why should she, but it still surprisingly... hurt, which he was loathed to admit. After the two hundred years he'd spend as little more than a slave, after knowing he wasn't a person but a weapon, he hated and resented the things she made him feel.

“You came back for me,” he growled, trying to focus on his anger. “The contract says you should leave me if I'm compromised.”

“I don't give a shit about the fucking contract!” Hope suddenly yelled. “You were going to _die_ , Charon. What did you expect me to do, leave you?!”

“YES!” he shouted, standing unsteadily on slightly shaking legs to tower over her. “The employer's safety is paramount. You're supposed to leave me if I'm compromised, you're not supposed to take risks for me.”

“Tough shit,” she spat, not backing down. “You can be pissed at me all you want, but I'm not going to apologise for saving your life. What type of person do you think I am?”

“The idiotic type that's going to get themselves killed over something stupid,” Charon retorted, knowing full well he could only speak to her like this since she'd once ordered him to speak his mind.

“Saving your life wasn't stupid,” Hope replied, quietly.

His anger began to subsided at the obvious hurt in her voice, so he asked her tiredly: “Why do you even care, smoothskin?

“Because for some stupid reason, I'm half way to being in love with you, you fucking asshole!” she snapped.

Hope watched as what she said registered. She'd never seen Charon caught off guard before, not even when she'd admitted to finding him attractive, but his milky eyes just stared at her like she'd grown a second head, before he sat down heavily on the rickety chair. She almost wanted to laugh at his reaction, because anyone would think she'd just told him something earth shattering like proving aliens were actually real, instead of stating how she felt about him. Granted, Hope had never meant to say it in the middle of an arguement and certainly not so soon, especially since Charon was still getting use to having autonomy again, still relearning that he was allowed to have feelings and that they mattered. So it was obvious he was struggling and despite how angry he'd just made her, Hope did feel guilty that she'd stunned him with her admission.

“I'm sorry,” she apologised, taking a hesitant step towards him. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“You didn't mean it,” he said, more statement than question, as he refused to look at her.

“Of course I meant it,” Hope replied gently, stroking his ravaged cheek with a bloodstained finger. “I just shouldn't have said it like that... that was unfair of me. I didn't mean to burden you.”

His milky gaze finally flicked back to meet hers. “It's not... a burden.”

“But it's made you uncomfortable,” she observed, cautiously cupping his face.

Charon refused to let his hands shake as he slowly reached for Hope's. Everything he'd felt earlier in the supply room... the shock, the hope, the affection, the cautious happiness... came bubbling back from where he'd tried to stuff it down. He was torn between wanting to believe her and waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he'd meant what he'd said back then, about being interested but cautious when it came to whatever it was between them. But _everything_ with Hope was so utterly new, from being treated like a person and having his opinion matter, to having someone actually caring about him and somehow finding him attractive. In just a month, Hope had turned his entire life upside down and although he was incredibly thankful for that, he was completely out of his depth.

“Not uncomfortable. Unsure,” Charon admitted, trying to soften his normally gruff tone. “I don't know what's expected.”

“Nothing's expected at all,” she said, lacing her fingers with his.

“I mean I don't know what to do,” he grumbled.

Hope smiled slightly, even as she shook her head. “You don't need to _do_ anything either, love.”

Charon huffed in annoyance. “Then what?”

Without thinking, Hope leant forward to press her forehead against his. “We just _be._ There's no rules about relationships, there's nothing you have to do... well, other than respect your partner I guess. Helps if you care about them and listen to them too, I suppose.”

“Seems... easy,” he replied, suspiciously.

“It can be,” she smiled.

“And... the rest?”

“We go at your pace,” Hope stated, sweetly. “The only thing I ask is for you to talk to me, that you'll be honest with me if something's wrong. I'm really not a mind reader, Charon. I can't just guess what you like or dislike, and I don't want to accidentally do something that upsets or hurts you... and I mean that emotionally as well as physically.”

“You will do the same?” Charon asked, sounding slightly wary.

“Of course,” she chuckled, softly. “I don't expect you to be a mind reader, either.”

Ever so slowly, Charon released her hands and carefully wrapped his arms around her waist; almost as if he was expecting her to push him away at any moment. Smiling gently, Hope slid her hands up his bare arms, before draping hers around his shoulders. He regarded her silently for several heartbeats... evidently looking for something, though Hope wasn't sure what... before he tugged her closer. A contented sigh slipped passed Hope's lips as Charon hugged her, and she melted into his embrace; simply relieved he was alright and that they were still together.


	8. Closer

The trudge back to Megaton had been gruelling, made twice as long because of their joint decision to skirt around any building that was still standing, on the off chance they'd be ambushed again. Their supplies were dangerously low by the end of their trek, and Charon had a sneaking suspicion that Hope was dehydrated and possibly suffering from heatstroke, despite the fact she kept insisting she was fine. However, as much as he didn't believe her... especially considering the lethargic way she'd dragged her feet the last few miles before Megaton's metal walls had loomed into view... Charon hadn't wanted to push the matter. Things had be awkward between them since the metro tunnel, and he wasn't sure if it was because Hope regretted what had happened, or if she was angry that he'd yelled at her for stupidly saving his life instead of protecting herself. His mind was a confusing jumble of thoughts, along with his conditioning screaming at him that he was in the wrong, so despite knowing he could and probably _should_ talk to Hope, Charon couldn't find the words to say; and since she hadn't broken the silence between them either, he resolved to simple follow her dutifully. To keep her safe. However the moment the door closed behind them, plunging them into the dimness of Hope's Megaton home, Charon unclipped his shotgun from his back before immediately tensing as arms unexpectedly wrapped around his waist from behind.

“Physical violence negates the contract.”

The words were out of his mouth before Charon could stop them, parroted instinctively. He regretted it instantly and held himself rigid, fully expecting that it would be the last straw for Hope; that she'd realise that she was wasting her time on someone as broken as he was. But instead she breathed out a weary sounding sigh, briefly resting her forehead between his shoulder blades for a heartbeat before letting go and stepping away... quietly popping an almost dejected sounding bubblegum bubble as she moved.

“It's a hug,” she murmured, giving him a wide berth as she walked passed and dumped her pack. “I was just excited we were home at last. Sorry.”

Even with his non-existent experience with whatever was growing between them, Charon could hear the hurt in Hope's voice and knew he'd fucked up, and whilst he was honestly terrified by how their dynamic had shifted so suddenly... not that he'd ever let that show... he didn't want their relationship to revert back to just bodyguard and employer, bound by the contact and nothing else. Because he _did_ care about Hope, he enjoyed spending time with her, he enjoyed being with her, no matter how appalling he was at showing it. So without giving himself chance to second guess his actions, Charon grabbed the redhead by the wrist and tugged her back towards him. For a moment Hope's big grey eyes stared up at him in shock, making him falter, though when she whispered his name, he let some long dormant instinct take over. Without a word, Charon surged forward and pressed his ruined lips against her ridiculously plush ones; hard but chaste. He didn't want to push things further, but he wanted Hope to understand he wanted to explore whatever it was between them, he wanted to be with her... at least behind closed doors where people wouldn't judge her for being a ghoulfucker. But even though she returned his kiss without hesitation, Charon started to doubt himself and pulled away; once again leaving Hope gazing up at him with concern creasing her brow.

“Can we... try again?” he asked, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“The hug?” she frowned, confused.

Gritting his jaw and expecting rejection, Charon nodded once, though was stunned by the radiant smile Hope directed at him. She didn't question him, simply accepted his request like it was nothing, and snaked the arm he wasn't still holding around his waist as she stepped closer.

“As many times as you need,” she assured, pressing her cheek to his still armoured chest. “We go at your pace.”


End file.
